In the courtyard of Basantapur
We sit down on the concrete stairs,
Watching the afternoon crowd
Mill around in the sunshine.
The clouds hang low on earth,
Almost touching the tallest pagodas.
The warm sun is going westwards
In the warm, azure sky.
The intricate wood carvings,
And the history, with its erotic figures
On the wooden struts,
Stare at us.
A mischievous smile flutters on your face.
You hold your breath.
For a moment, you let your eyes rest on me.
In all the beauty of this square,
Have you forgotten
That I am less than nothing?